I Could've, I Should've
by shellbell0944
Summary: Regrets aren't easy to live with, especially in Panem. Katniss didn't realize the regrets she would have later in life. No one did. Everyone was just trying to survive, at the expense of others. Can their remorse be overcome after everything that has happened?
1. Chapter 1: Paintbrush

I Could've, I Should've

Chapter 1 – Paintbrush

"Well I can't explain why it's not enough

'Cause I gave it all to you

And if you leave me now, oh just leave me know

It's the better thing to do"

-James Morrison "Pieces Don't Fit Anymore"

**AN: ... means a past event (in this case, a past "wish") **

I hear cursing upstairs, as I close the front door, and slide off my hunting boots. I slough off my game bag, and place it down on the ground. It's been so many years that I don't have to search for where he is, I can determine exactly which room his voice is coming from with a small string of words.

He's in the room we have reserved for his paintings, probably holding the back of a chair, or cracking his paintbrush in two while staring at a brushstroke that shouldn't have happened, but did. Because of a flashback.

Even after three years, he still gets them. I tried to help him through them during the war, and it helped then, it got him through, and made him saner than I felt. But he insists that he'd rather squeeze the life out of a chair or paintbrush than my "small, little hands." He says my hands have been through enough over the years. I have come to understand that what he really means, is that he doesn't want to squeeze the life out of something more delicate than my hands. I don't blame him, because he's living with the monster that he's terrified of when he has a flashback.

So I don't go upstairs. I sit down in a chair at the kitchen table, and let out a deep breath.

Every flashback he has while painting, brings the same moment to the forefront of my mind. The same regret.

It's a moment that never happened, but it could've, and it should've.

I close my eyes, and let it overtake me, wishing desperately for it to be real.

...

Standing at the two-way glass, I can see Peeta in a hospital bed in District 13. His hands are hand cuffed tightly. I watch his fingers twitch, like electric wires zapped by lightning.

I leave the doctors' side, and Haymitch asks, "Where are you going?"

"I'll be back soon," I say. "Besides, he's not going anywhere any time soon." I immediately feel my cheeks burn with shame. Yeah, he's not going anywhere, even though his hijacking was to hurt me, not him. Yet, he's the one locked away, still suffering from images and uncertainty, not me.

I go to the Special Weapons department, and find Beetee and Gale sitting down, pointing at a large paper, and talking quickly. When they hear me come in they turn to assess the intruder. Beetee flashes me a quick smile before turning back to their new design, but Gale just stares at me warily. I know he's wondering what I'm going to say.

"What can we do for you Katniss?" Beetee asks me distractedly when he determines that Gale and I aren't going to initiate a conversation.

"I was wondering where you guys got your drawing materials...and if you think I could get some?" I ask.

I can feel the tension in the air, so I don't ask what Gale and Beetee drawing. Our fight a few days ago was one of the few times I've ever voiced my concerns over Gale's rage at the Capitol, and he was either unprepared for my stance, or was thrown off kilter when I wasn't on his side.

"On the 15th floor, there's a room with office supplies," Beetee says. "Room 1538, if I remember correctly. They have a printer inside that room and some cabinets. You'll find rudimentary materials like these in there." He briefly lifts the paper they are using for their blueprints.

"Thanks, Beetee."

"What are you drawing, Catnip?" Gale surprises me. His face is tight, and dejected.

"It's not for me," I say awkwardly. I look at the ground, at the tables in the room, at their drawing, anywhere but Gale's eyes.

From the corner of my eye, I see him give me a slow nod, and without another word, he turns around and resumes his conversation with Beetee.

He knows whom the materials are for. He probably knew before he asked. I try to brush aside the pang of guilt twisting my insides, and make my way to the stairs.

We're on the 20th floor, and I dislike elevators, especially ones that are underground, so I decide to walk upstairs and descend down. It's a strange feeling walking upstairs with the numbers decreasing instead of increasing, but that's what happens when you go underground I guess.

I finally find Room 1538, and scour the cabinets until I've got several large sheets of white paper and pencils filled with colored lead. They didn't have any paint, or canvases, but maybe this will help.

I make my way to Peeta's room, my steps becoming quicker and more confident the closer I get. "Can I take these into him?" I ask Haymitch.

He raises an eyebrow at me, before exchanging a glance with Peeta's head doctor, and opening the door for me.

"Be nice," he grunts.

Peeta's eyes widen, and his hands grab onto his sheets and twist at them. He's probably scared I'm the mutt in his flashbacks. He's probably wondering if I plan on attacking him with the colored pencils.

I purse my lips, and walk inside. Haymitch closes the door, and I can practically hear all the frantic handwriting on the other side of the glass.

"What do you want?" he asks me tersely.

"I brought you these."

He doesn't say anything, he doesn't even move a muscle in his face to look at what I brought. Maybe this wasn't a good idea...

"I couldn't find any canvas, or paint," I continue, my voice unsure, "but I thought you might be able to sketch."

Again, he doesn't say anything, but he does look at what I brought. It's strange to hear him so mute. I shift my feet nervously, and avert my eyes around the room.

After a couple minutes, I let my eyes land on his again, and surprisingly find them bluer. I take an unconscious step forward, and he visibly tenses. The blue in his eyes vanishes. His hands start twisting at the sheets again, and his face contorts against his will.

It feels like I've got a rock in my stomach, seeing him move so unnaturally, because of me. So I step back to where I was.

"Sorry," I whisper. I turn around, and walk back towards the door, still clutching the drawing materials. I feel...defeated.

"Katniss" I hear his voice croak out. It's weak and shaky, but the tone is a touch softer than when he first addressed me.

I turn my neck so I can see his face.

"Why?" he asks with a confused look.

"Because...it helped you once."

His eyes fade as he searches his memories for the truth in my words, so I slowly make my way to the table by his bed, lay down the materials, and walk out of his room.

...

It never happened, but it could've, and I don't want to live with any more regrets. So I dig through Peeta's surplus art supplies, pull out a new paintbrush, and walk upstairs. I knock on the door.

"You can come in now, Katniss," he says. It's barely audible, but not from the door blocking the sound.

I open the door, and find him slumped on the ground. Wood splinters from his paintbrush are scattered around him, and the floor has fresh splotches of paint from where the brush fell when he snapped it. I sit down beside him, and wordlessly hand him a new paintbrush.

He tries to smile as he takes it, but it falls short and stretches into a pained frown.

"Hey, no," I say, positioning myself directly in front of him and taking his face in my hands. He refuses to look at me, but I keep talking because I know he wants to believe my words even more than I do. "He didn't take you from me, because you're still here. He tried his hardest, but it wasn't enough."

His blue eyes look at me with an agonizingly, hopeful expression, and he slowly slides his hands over my wrists, holding them gently but tightly. We stay like that for a long time, before he finally feels stable enough to lean in, and kiss my lips.

**AN: Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2: Sunset

I Could've, I Should've

Chapter 2 - Sunset

Mockingjay, Prim: "Katniss, I don't think you understand how important you are to the cause. Important people usually get what they want. If you want to keep Peeta safe from the rebels, you can."

Mockingjay, Gale: "You could ask for the moon and they'd have to find some way to get it."

**AN: ... means a past event (in this case, a past "wish") Thank you to those of you who put this story on alert or favorited it! I should probably let you know that this story won't be updated frequently like my other story, ****"Working Out," which I'm writing heavily right now. This story is sort of a collection of one-shots that will appear here and there as I think of new chapters. I hope you enjoy nonetheless! **  


"I'll be right back," Peeta says, getting up from our chairs on the porch, and going into the house.

When he comes back he's got a sketch pad, a box of colored pencils, and a blanket. He drapes the blanket around my shoulders because he knows I'll get cold after the sun goes down. He sits back down beside me, stares off into the distance, and looks back at the paper. He glides the pencils along the surface in smooth, easy strokes. A piece of hair falls into his eyes, and he is so concentrated that he doesn't even notice when I brush it back.

Images of a man and woman watching a sunset take shape on the page, and it's only another reminder of what I could've done. What I should've done for him. Years ago...

...

Grey. Everywhere grey. There's no color down here at all, not even in anyone's faces. Everyone looks pale and grey, as if we are slowly decaying under the earth. Decomposing.

I watch Delly and Peeta through the glass. They're talking about their childhood. Delly always tries very hard to bring up only happy memories, which isn't hard for her since her unhappy memories mostly began when the Capitol bombed our District.

I'm not really paying attention to what they're saying. I mostly notice how it looks like Peeta is blending in with the whole room. The doctors said that all the venom is out of his system, but I'm not so sure. His flashbacks haven't stopped, he's easily angered, and he looks as if his blood has gone cold inside of him. His skin has a grey pallor, which is disturbingly unnatural for him. He skin was always white, but looked vibrant, like porcelain.

My ears pick up the word "orange" from their conversation. I'm not sure what they were talking about, but my mind instantly refreshes with memories of my orange dress on the Victory Tour, and the sunset on the rooftop before the Quarter Quell. He told me once, 'Orange, like the sunset,' is his favorite color. I look for a spot of orange color in the room, only to find varying tones of grey and white.

We never see color here. Everyone's clothes are stark grey just like the structures and objects we use everyday. And it's not like we can see color above ground. It's as if the people living in 13 have forgotten that the world can still be beautiful above ground.

I can't even remember the last time I saw a sunset. Actually...the last sunset I saw might have been with him. It was so long ago. I glance at the clock on the wall, since I have absolutely no rhythm for natural time underground. It's 6:00 in the evening. The sun will be setting in about a half hour or so.

"Haymitch?" I begin.

But he interrupts me. "What do you want now?"

I scowl at him, but he ignores it. "Do you think there's any way Peeta could go for a walk?"

Haymitch looks at me like he's thinking of locking me in handcuffs beside Peeta. His eyes glance down to the bruises on my neck, but he doesn't say anything. That's my answer. No.

"Where are you planning to take him, sweetheart?" he huffs without looking at me. I don't answer. A few more moments of silence pass, and he walks to a different room. He's gone for nearly ten minutes, and I start thinking that Haymitch is disregarding my request, or that it's been shot down by President Coin. So it surprises me when he comes back and blurts out, "Delly, why don't you come on out?"

She looks back at the window momentarily perplexed, but turns back to Peeta and smiles sweetly. "I'll see you later, Peeta." She obediently climbs out of the chair by Peeta's bed, and exits the room.

Peeta looks unnerved, as if his worst nightmare could come walking in next. And it probably does, because I walk in after Delly leaves. He tenses, staring at me without moving, like a deer when it catches sight of me pulling my bowstring back. He's still wondering if I'm a mutt, bent on hurting him.

"Hi," I say as casually as I can muster to ease his evident anxiety. He doesn't say anything in response.

From the corner of my eye I pick up on colors. They seem so out of place in this room. And they are out of place, located underneath the window that the doctors use to observe him, are beautiful, colorful drawings. Drawings of cakes with beautiful frosting designs, his family, the bakery his family owned, and the meadow where we trained before the Quell. He sketched all of them in perfect detail. There are none of me, but I'm glad for that. I know I couldn't handle seeing myself as the mutt that frightens Peeta.

His drawings take me back to the train after the first Games when I saw his paintings, so detailed, and vivid. I hated them then. I don't hate them now. Perhaps it's because I understand him a little bit better after everything we've gone through together. Perhaps it's because I've come to appreciate all these little things he does. Perhaps it's simply because he still sees color and I only see grey, even though he has more reason to see grey than I do.

I look at him, and decide to do the only thing I've ever been capable of doing. Act instead of speak. So I unlock his handcuffs, one by one, slowly. I hear pounding on the doors and windows of Peeta's room, and I have a feeling the guard just discovered that I swiped the keys off him before coming in here.

"What are you doing?" Peeta asks warily when he's free.

"Come with me."

He snorts out of derision. "You think I'd go anywhere with you?" he says suddenly angry.

"No, I guess not," I say and begin to handcuff him again.

"No," he says, eyeing the handcuff in my hand. He pauses a long time. Seconds go by. Minutes probably. "Where are we going?"

I lead him to the elevator shaft. He can't walk well, so I push him in a wheelchair. Four guards watch our every move, and they've handcuffed his hands and feet to the chair. They were pretty angry with me uncuffing him and demanded the key back as soon as I opened the door. I probably have Haymitch to thank for the moment of privacy to let him free from his bed.

We are waiting for the elevator doors to close when I hear the most familiar voice I know. "Catnip! Where are you going?" he asks with alarm clearly in his voice. His eyes scream out that I'm making a mistake just before the doors close.

"I guess Gale doesn't like seeing his girlfriend with me in District 13 either," he says coldly.

We ride up to the surface in silence, except for the occasional clink of his handcuffs against the metal of his chair. When the doors open I suddenly feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. The fresh air gives me new life and a sense of freedom.

I push Peeta out onto the surface to where we can see the sun set across the landscape.

"Why did you bring me up here, Katniss?" Peeta asks angrily after a minute goes by and I haven't explained why we're here.

"I thought-" I begin saying.

"Was it so I could hear the birds chirping?" he interrupts me. "See the trees? Did you really think this would fix me?"

I shrug my shoulders in defeat. Peeta turns around towards the elevator, trying desperately to move the chair on his own, but he can't because of the handcuffs. He yells at the guards to help him. Maybe Gale was right. Maybe this was a huge mistake. I'm about to lose hope, but then I see it: the first streak of orange coloring the sky. "Peeta," I call out to him.

All the commotion near the elevator stops and I suddenly wonder if they've left me alone up here since I can't hear anyone anymore. I turn around, and see Peeta and the guards looking at the sky changing from day to night. "I didn't think you'd want to miss it," I say, remembering the words he said to me before the Quell.

He doesn't look at me or say anything as we watch the sun blast the sky with orange, pink, and yellow. After we can no longer see the sun, the most vivid colors pop up and dance across the sky as if saying thank you for watching. I soak it in as if I'm drinking in the summer sunshine.

A few minutes later when the colors are completely gone we make our way back to the elevator and head back to Peeta's floor. When the elevator doors open I push Peeta's chair out and Gale practically collides with us. I know he's frustrated that Haymitch didn't give Gale permission to go with us to the surface. He's just looking out for me and he doesn't trust Peeta around me after what happened. Gale walks us back to Peeta's room and gives my arm a squeeze before he scurries off to his next session.

"How'd it go?" Haymitch asks once I've dropped Peeta back off at his bed.

"I don't know," I reply. And I don't know how he took it, until the next day. I came by his room the following afternoon, and didn't see any noticeable change in the way he looked or talked, but up on the wall was the proof. The proof that the sunset made an impact. It's the first drawing that he's displayed where others can freely see it, and it makes me wonder if he's displaying it to me as well. A sign of friendship, and thanks. It might be a small step for him, maybe it's a big step, but it's forward movement, and if anyone in Panem needs their spirits boosted, it's Peeta.

...

Peeta gets up from his spot on the porch and snuggles me into the blanket. I didn't even realize it had fallen off my shoulders. "Katniss, are you okay?" he asks. "You're freezing." I have a tendency to get cold easier these days. It started happening after the war, a horrible side effect. The cooling off of the Girl on Fire.

I pat his hand in silent thanks, but my fingers brush over the scars from where he dug the handcuffs into his skin, and I cringe at the memory.

Prim and Gale were right. I could have gotten anything I wanted when I was the rebel's Mockingjay. I just don't understand why my list of demands stopped the moment Peeta strangled me. Maybe, I was just too heartbroken to think straight. Maybe I really had gone crazy.

"We're past that now," Peeta says as I lightly stroke his scars. It took us a long time to grow back together, but as the years passed I knew that there was still a little part of Peeta inside his scarred and broken body. He was afraid of losing himself and he did, mostly. But I know that he isn't completely gone. I know it not because he made it through the war, or because he's here with me now, but because he learned to love me after he learned to hate me.


End file.
